“It proves I know an ass when I see one, answered the Missing Link.

“You daylight robber!  You unblushing fraud!” yelled McKnight.

“Stay,” cried the Professor, with dignity.  “Is it possible, sir, you have never heard of the art of ventriloquism?  I am a ventriloquist.  The voice you heard was my voice thrown into the mouth of the Missing Link.  In this way we are teaching a magpie to speak to the man-monkey as a new feature of my marvellous entertainment.  As to your libellous accusations, sir, you will probably hear further on that point from my solicitor, and now good-day.”

“Be me sowl, this bates cock-fightin’, McKnight,” said the constable.  “Th’ monkey’s right, Mack.  Sure, it’s an ass yiv made iv yersilf this day.”

When McKnight and his party had gone, and the museum was empty of patrons, the Professor mopped his brow, and drew a great breath.

“It’s lucky we were prepared for that emergency,” he said.

“I dunno,” said the man-monkey; “why shouldn’t a Missing Link talk, anyhow?”

“Look here, Nickie, you’re wantin’ to be too talented,” said the Professor.  “Your overweening ambition will ruin everything.  Why, bless my soul, you be wanting to shave clean and have a vote presently.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

An adventure at ’tween Bridges.

“Bony, my friend, I am weary of this,” said the Missing Link.

The Living Skeleton, who had been drowsing on his chair, beat the flies off and groaned.

“So’m I.” he replied, “but what’s a cove t’ do?”

“Sneak my key out of the Professor’s tent, and let’s go and have a drop of something.”

“It ain’t t’ be thought of, Nickie,” said Matty Cann, “where’d my livin’ be?  The Professor ud give me the run, an’ there’s the missus an’ the kids.”

“No fear, he can’t pick up Living Skeletons at every Street corner.  Living Skeletons are rarer than you think.  Why, a man of your physique could get a Living Skeleton billet almost anywhere.  What you want is a little more impudence and self-respect Matty.  An artist like you ought to be able to make his own terms, and not be tied up like a calculating dog or a two-headed calf.”

“D’yeh think so?” said Matty, eagerly.

“Of course I do.  Now, you just pinch the key of my cage.  We’ll trot out and have a drink.  No one will be a penny the wiser.”

It was early in the afternoon of a midsummer day.  Professor Thunder’s Museum of Marvels was on show at ’Tween Bridges.  The show was open for any casual sixpence but business in agricultural centres is dead at this hour, and the Professor and his wile slept in the tent of the Egyptian Mystic, and Miss Letitia, who was doorkeeper at the outer tent, overcome by the heat and burden of the day dreamed of that splendid time when she was to be acclaimed queen of the bare-back riders of all nations and generations.